very afternoon, as it happens.’
‘Then there’s no need to send one of your lads. I’ll ride his horse to Hardgate Hall myself.’
Joe Hucksby looked startled. ‘It’s a spirited beast, sir. Took two of my lads to hold it while I did the shoeing—’
‘I’ll take it,’ Beau repeated decisively. He was clad anyway in buckskins and riding boots and was impatient to get on with his journey. But he could see that William was fretting.
‘Should I see if there’s another horse, so I can come with you—sir?’ his coachman suggested quietly.
Beau shook his head. ‘Better if you stay around here, William, and check that the job’s being done properly. Oh, and you could take the opportunity to find a decent inn nearby. Book us two rooms for the night and get yourself a meal while you’re at it.’
‘But you, sir? You haven’t eaten since breakfast!’
‘Hugh Palfreyman’s bound to offer me refreshment of one kind or another. And, William—don’t tell them any more than you have to about me or my business at Hardgate Hall, you understand?’ He’d already instructed William to address him by nothing but sir for the whole of this journey.
As William nodded, Beau turned back to the blacksmith. ‘I’ll return for my coach later this evening, Hucksby. Here’s some payment in advance.’ He’d thrust his hand in his coat pocket and drew out some coins to put in the man’s big fist.
‘Well, that’s mighty obliging of you, Mr...’
‘My name’s Beaumaris.’
The blacksmith nodded, clearly disappointed that he wasn’t a lord at the very least. ‘Thank you kindly, Mr Beaumaris, sir. And I’ve no doubt that Mr Palfreyman would himself suggest that you take his horse if he were here, yes, indeed.’
Beau privately doubted it very much. But within ten minutes, the horse in question—a handsome bay gelding with a white blaze down its forehead—was saddled up and ready, though just as Beau was about to mount, the blacksmith darted away and returned with a sturdy whip.
‘You might be needing this, sir,’ Joe Hucksby pronounced. ‘Mr Palfreyman warned us this bay can be a stubborn brute and don’t like being told what to do.’
Already realising that the horse was trying to back away in pure terror at the sight of the whip—and that the blacksmith’s lads had gathered to watch the entertainment—Beau pushed the implement back into Joe Hucksby’s hands. ‘A man who needs to use a whip like that,’ he said flatly, ‘doesn’t deserve to be entrusted with any animal.’
William nodded his approval and Beau mounted, aware that the horse, on feeling his weight in the saddle, was already sidling and snorting with fear. Beau soothed the beast and thought, Damn. What has Palfreyman done to this animal?
He had a pretty good idea, for if he looked back at the horse’s flanks, he could see the marks where the whip had been used to lash the beast only recently. Palfreyman, he thought grimly, if my opinion of you wasn’t already at rock bottom, it certainly would be by now. He tensed his muscular thighs to let the gelding know that he was in control, while at the same time he stroked its neck. ‘There. There,’ he murmured. ‘Easy does it, now.’
The horse at last moved forward, showing obedience, even willingness. Beau was rather pleased to see the blacksmith and his boys gazing after him, open-mouthed. ‘Which is the best way to reach Hardgate Hall?’ Beau called to them over his shoulder.
‘The track through the Ashendale Forest is quickest, sir,’ one of the lads piped up. ‘You’d best take the road for Reading—you’ll see it just past the church. At the first crossroads you turn left, and then you want to head over the bridge and follow the path into the woods—’
At that point the blacksmith interrupted him. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t advise that way at all, Mr Beaumaris, I really wouldn’t. It’s easy to get lost and there are sometimes footpads.’
‘Is this track through the forest quicker than the turnpike road?’
‘Much quicker, sir.’ The lad was still eager. ‘It takes—oh, at least a mile off your journey!’
Then that’s the path I’ll take. And Beau was on his way.
* * *
The lad’s instructions were easy to follow and Beau was pleased to discover that the big bay, once he had its trust, was an energetic and speedy mount. He was even more pleased when he looped the reins over one hand and with the other delved for his pocket watch, to find that it was not yet half past three—there was still time to arrive punctually at Hardgate Hall. The one factor he hadn’t bargained on was the rain, which drove straight into his face and was becoming heavier by the minute, slowing his pace; but he never once thought of turning round, because this meeting with Palfreyman was long overdue. Palfreyman had questions to answer and consequences to face.
Beau’s frown deepened as he remembered the day of Simon’s funeral just two months ago, when the rain had fallen as relentlessly as it did today on the cortège of black funeral carriages and his brother’s oak coffin.
Enough of that wretch Palfreyman’s feeble excuses. It’s time to meet the coward face to face. Beau urged the bay gelding on through ancient oaks, aware that the trees were growing thicker all around him; but the path was clear enough and so he was taking little heed of the dank undergrowth on either side, which was foolish of him.
Because in his haste he had completely failed to see the two shadowy figures who had watched him earlier from behind a thicket of birch when he’d stopped to check the time. Failed now to see the twine tautly stretched between two saplings on either side of the path ahead of him—until it was too late.
One moment he was making good speed along the forest track. The next—disaster. The big bay stumbled badly and, though Beau wrestled to keep the beast upright, within moments he’d gone crashing to the ground.
Loping steadily through the woods, Deb paused to brush down her kersey jacket and corduroy breeches, which had picked up a fine coating of pine needles when she’d landed on the other side of Palfreyman’s boundary wall just now.
On the safe side of Palfreyman’s boundary wall. She crammed her cap more securely over her curls and set off again towards the clearing where their horses were, weaving her way between the oak trees and the birch saplings, and even allowing herself a quick smile as she imagined Hugh Palfreyman’s face when he read that letter. When he saw the page she’d cut out.
She grinned, but she felt revulsion too. Ever since she’d got clear of that place, she’d been vigorously inhaling the fresh air to rid her lungs of the musty odours that lurked in Palfreyman’s secret room. And she found herself wondering again—why would her mother have even wanted to be reconciled with a brother whose cruelty had driven her from her home in the first place?
It wasn’t as if her mother had been unhappy with her new life. In fact, Deb remembered her as being full of love both for her daughter and for her husband, Gerald O’Hara, actor and manager of the Lambeth Players. Deb too had loved her caring
